Constellations
by Tre Corde
Summary: Confucius meets a strange boy who calls himself the Middle Kingdom.
1. 482 BC: push and pull

**Introduction:**

China as the overbearing, patronizing big brother figure is pretty much an essential component of his character. But what happens when you take all of that away? After all, even the most overbearing and most patronizing of blockheads have to start from somewhere.

The thing is, respect for elders is _huge_ in Chinese culture. Particularly filial respect. Confucianism is absolutely drenched in it. What I'm envisioning is a young China during the Eastern Zhou Dynasty, about twelve-ish in physical age, surrounded by more elders than juniors. A character study with a dash of history, if you will. It won't be very long. I'm planning four (very short) chapters with copious amounts of over-enthusiastic footnotes.

It's also kind of a personal exploration, because out of all the Allies and major supporting characters, I feel like China is the one I understand the least.

Oh, and some quick notes on names before we begin:

**Kongzi**: Confucius  
**Middle Kingdom**: China

Further notes at the end, if you're interested. Enjoy!

* * *

—:—

* * *

**482 BC: push and pull**

It was good to be back in Lu. The days were long and calm, and by the second year Kongzi had settled into a quiet, easy routine.

At noon, men young and old would seek shade at the pavilion by the pond. They would cluster around stone benches in long hemp robes and straw shoes, prompting in their wake the dismayed evacuation of shrill-voiced birds who had similarly sought shelter from the midday sun. The men would laugh and argue amongst themselves, and then, once everyone had settled, the questions would begin.

And Kongzi would talk.

But never too much. He had grown sharp and wise over the long years, and he knew when to push, and when to pull back. Kongzi was a teacher, not a lecturer, and there were some things in life that a man had to discover for himself for them to hold any meaning at all.

Sometimes, when the angle of the sun was just right, he'd glimpse an unnatural stain of shadow against the sheets of bamboo that curtained the pavilion. The sun would move, and the shadow would fall away, but the presence always lingered.

It stayed even when night fell and the stars touched the sky, and his disciples had thanked him and departed to their homes of sloping canopies and square windows. Kongzi always waited but never spoke, because he knew when to push and when to pull back.

Nineteen times he didn't speak, and nineteen times the presence stole away under the cover of night.

On the twentieth—

"What did you mean, Master?"

The voice was soft, hesitant. It came from the half-silhouette outlined in bamboo.

"What did I mean about what?" Kongzi said mildly, with no indication of surprise.

"When you spoke of _li_," said the bamboo, gaining confidence. "And the Five Relations."

Kongzi turned. "And why," he said, with a hint of humor, "would a bamboo spirit care for the matters of humans?"

There was an explosive sound of indignation at his words, and Kongzi had to hide his smile.

"I am _not_ a bamboo spirit!"

"Then a spirit of the pond, perhaps? Or a ghost of the pavilion?"

"I'm not either," the bamboo grumbled. "I will have you know I'm just as human as—"

The voice in the bamboo abruptly fell silent, and Kongzi felt his mirth dissolving into concern. When the voice finally spoke again, it had returned to its original subdued timbre.

"You are…correct. I have no right to learn. I am sorry for giving you trouble, Master Kong."

Before he could say anything, there was a soft rustling and a small, shadowy figure was hurriedly rushing away.

Kongzi thought, ruefully, that he might have pushed a bit too far in his teasing. Clearly he was not as sharp or as wise as he had believed, if he failed to recognize something so simple as when to pull back.

—:—

His faceless visitor did not return for many days.

Nonetheless, Kongzi kept a steady eye on the bamboo pillars that bordered the pavilion. When at last he spied the half-silhouette among the striped foliage, he was so delighted that he quite lost his train of thought.

After a length of silence, the serious-faced Zeng Shen asked if anything was the matter.

Kongzi thought for a moment before saying, very loudly, that education did not discriminate between age, class, or wealth. He said, even more loudly, that he was happy to teach anyone, be they the poor farmers, or young nobles, or even little imps that haunted bamboo groves.

Zeng Shen, ever serious, nodded vigorously. The other disciples stared at Kongzi as if he'd grown an additional head in a particularly inappropriate location.

He did not mind their looks. When night fell and the pavilion had emptied, the voice in the bamboo was shyly calling out once more. The visitor did not reveal itself, and Kongzi did not push.

They talked about _li_ and the Five Relations, and were content.

—:—

Li._ Principle, morality, ritual propriety. Through _li_ one masters _ren_, compassion. Through _li_ the basic human relationships are formed._

_Ruler and subject. Parent and child. Husband and wife. Elder sibling and younger sibling. Friend and friend. These are the Five Relations…_

—:—

The visitor emerged from its bamboo haven one evening, and suddenly the voice had a face.

Kongzi stared. It was dark, but the moon was plump, and he had a terribly good memory. He _knew _that face.

It was the face of a young boy, barely old enough to be considered adolescent. The same face that stared out at him at the court of Chengzhou, alongside King Jing and the rest of the royal family. But that was well over a decade ago, when Kongzi was still clumsily attempting politics.

"What's this?" he murmured. "How curious…but I know you, don't I?"

The boy averted his eyes, hiding his face in too-long sleeves. "I'm sorry, Master, I didn't mean to startle you—I wasn't sure you'd remember…"

"You are the boy from Chengzhou," said Kongzi, and the child hesitantly nodded. "What are you doing in Lu?"

"Oh," said the boy, blinking. He did not seem to expect that question. "Well, I wanted to listen to you, Master."

"You followed me?"

"Yes—_no_." The boy looked panicked. "Of course not! I wouldn't, _didn't_. I just, I was just—"

He hid his face deeper within his sleeves as he struggled to express himself. Kongzi waited.

"I feel lost, Master," the child admitted at last. "These years have been…strange. I feel torn to pieces, and some days I wake up and I don't know what_…__who_ I am anymore. But you—" The boy regarded him with shining eyes. "You make things make sense! When you say that everyone has a place in the world, when you speak of _li_ and _ren,_ of respect and virtue and self-cultivation…I feel like I know myself."

"And who is that?"

The boy looked at him, ancient eyes in a child's face. "I am the Middle Kingdom."

* * *

—:—

* * *

**Footnotes:**

**1] The Middle Kingdom**: China. From "Zhong guo," which literally means "Middle Kingdom." Traditionally, the story goes that China's name comes from "Qin" as in "Qin Dynasty." In reality, no one really knows where the heck the name comes from (though there are speculations of a Persian or Indian origin, as in _Cīna_). In any case, it makes little sense to use "China" here, because 1) even if the Qin story were true, the Zhou Dynasty predates it anyway, and 2) it would be extremely weird for a young China to refer to himself by an exonym that hadn't even been invented yet.

**2] Confucius**: Most Chinese know him as Kongzi, or Kong Fuzi if you're feeling fancy. Both literally mean "Master Kong." For the purposes of this story, Kongzi is used because it's still two thousand years too early for the latinized version.

**3] Bamboo spirit**: So, about China and animism. Confucius was like the ancient Chinese equivalent of agnostic—he didn't disbelieve in spirits, but he didn't really give a crap, either. When he teases China about being a bamboo spirit, he's basically dishing out the ancient Chinese equivalent of sarcasm.

**4] Zeng Shen**: A very, very, serious fellow. Earnest to a fault. Confucius considered him his second most senior student, and (fondly?) called him "dull." Zeng Shen is actually his birth name, and I probably should have used his courtesy name...which brings me to the next footnote.

**5] Courtesy names**: These were the _zi_, the names bestowed upon adulthood. I would have used courtesy names, but I didn't want any confusion since Zeng Shen's courtesy name, Ziyu, happens to be a homonym for another disciple's courtesy name.

**6] Chengzhou and Lu**: Lu was Confucius' home-state. Chengzhou was the capital of Zhou…at least for a little while. See, Zhou Dynasty is split into two periods, Western and Eastern, both of which have different capitals because the rulers freaked out halfway through the dynasty and fled from Zongzhou to Chengzhou (modern-day Luoyang). Chinese rulers would continue to frolic to and from Luoyang for the next several dynasties or so.

**7] King Jing**: Yes, you read that right. King, not Emperor. Zhou Dynasty had kings (_wang_), and it wasn't until the Qin that the first Emperor came along.

**8] Civil war**: We're currently nestled right in that awkward period during the Partition of Jin, when four major clans (Zhao, Zhi, Han, and Wei) fought for supremacy. The ongoing civil war is why poor China feels so lousy. This is some intense pre-Warring States Period stuff, folks.


	2. 481 BC: father and son

**A/N****:**

Introduction of a minor OC incoming. Fret not, he doesn't actually appear in person.

**Gojoseon**: Ancient Korea

Further notes at the end, if you're interested. Enjoy!

* * *

—:—

* * *

**481 BC: father and son**

Kongzi knew of the tumultuous state of the Middle Kingdom. He knew, too, of the civil war that ravaged the heart of Jin. How could he not? He'd seen it all firsthand in the past, when he traversed the land—looking for virtue and order but finding only corruption and chaos.

It was absolutely surreal, and more than a little upsetting, to see all that turmoil reflected in the body of a small child.

Currently, the boy who called himself the Middle Kingdom was sleeping fitfully on a bed that had once been Kong Li's. He was shaking even in slumber, and his skin burned bright-hot with fever.

This was not the first of the Middle Kingdom's fainting spells, yet Kongzi found it no less alarming than he had the first time he'd discovered the boy collapsed in a shivering wreck behind the bamboo. In his alarm, he had carried the boy straight to his home—but Kongzi was still only human and the Middle Kingdom was decidedly not, so there was precious little he could do aside from spooning him meals of soup and the occasional cup of tea.

Which was frustrating, because neither soup nor tea was particularly helpful. The boy's fevers always swelled and ebbed independent of Kongzi's ministrations.

(He did not like feeling powerless. It hit a little too close to home.)

Regardless, he knew by now that the Middle Kingdom's sicknesses usually cleared up in a few days. Kongzi unhappily resigned himself to waiting it out. The child would get better. He always did.

—:—

It had been two weeks, and the fever would not go down.

—:—

Kongzi stared down the minister of Lu, his posture cold and stiff.

When he'd been told the news about Qi, there had been much shouting. And profanity. The phrase "dishonorable dogs" was tossed around quite generously. Mothers may have entered the conversation.

He had managed to calm his behavior since then, but it was really just the eye of the storm. Internally, he still seethed.

"I would like," Kongzi said, stony-faced, "to put in a formal request to the Duke of Lu. To correct this…_gross_ _violation_."

The minister eyed him nervously before rushing away to deliver the message. Kongzi closed his eyes and tried to organize his thoughts.

Honestly, he should know better by now. He was no stranger to corruption, to this poisonous game of politics and violence. Tian Chang was hardly the first of his kind to carve his way to the throne through blood, and would certainly not be the last. If anything, Kongzi should have been desensitized to all this horrid nonsense by now—and yet, he could hardly remember having ever felt so angry.

Did these idiots have any idea of how much they were hurting their nation?

—:—

His request was denied.

—:—

It was near the end of the month when a weary Kongzi opened his well-worn copy of the _I Ching, _the Book of Changes. Its groaning bamboo pages were riddled with scratches, and bits of leather cracked free from the straps that held the book together. Old, so very old—but loved. He had been reading from it more and more in recent years, and now, to ease his worry-frayed mind, he would read from it again.

He was in the middle of quietly reciting a passage to himself when he noticed the unnatural silence.

The Middle Kingdom wasn't shivering anymore.

Kongzi paused in his reading, watching with surprise as the child's sleeping face immediately contorted into a frown. He hardly dared breathe. Could it be…?

He began to read aloud again, making sure to keep his voice steady, gentle, confident. The crease between the boy's eyebrows slowly smoothed out. His breathing evened.

Kongzi cited passages deep into the night. For the first time in a long while, he felt light of heart.

—:—

The boy quickly recovered. Philosophy, it seemed, was good for his health.

On the other hand, philosophy also seemed to feed him strange ideas. And in a child already full of inquisitive whimsy, this led to some very peculiar notions indeed.

"Master Kong," he'd often say, bright and earnest, "it is my dearest wish to experience for myself each of the Five Relations, but this is impossible as long as I have no mother or father. Master Kong, would you be my father?"

Kongzi would pause, and think of Kong Li and Yan Hui, and would suddenly feel very old and tired. He did not think he had it in him to be a father anymore.

"Child," he'd say instead, "do you really think me so arrogant as to proclaim myself father of an entire nation?"

And the Middle Kingdom would smile sheepishly and let the topic drop until the next moon, when he'd ask again, like clockwork.

"Master Kong," the Middle Kingdom said one morning on his doorstep. It was not often that he visited Kongzi in his own home, at least not in good health. Curious, Kongzi gave him his full attention. "Master Kong, I have decided. I know you do not see me as a son, but as far as I am concerned, you _are_ my father. You saved me when I was lost, and taught me many things, and I don't have much experience with fathers but I imagine that is the kind of thing they do for their sons, yes? You have always been a father to me, and so I will treat you as such, because no matter how _you_ feel, I will always hold you to the utmost respect—Master Kong? Are you all right? ...Master, you're crying!"

"You ridiculous child," said Kongzi, waving away the boy's babbled apologies. "Hush, now. Come in, I've made breakfast."

—:—

After his disciples returned home from their daily pilgrimage to the pavilion, Kongzi waited and watched the sky. The moon was a crescent smile tonight, something that Kongzi found matched perfectly with the Middle Kingdom's beaming face as he barreled out from the dark foliage.

"I am glad," said the Middle Kingdom as he clung to the painted wooden railing. "I now know of fathers as well as rulers and brothers. That's three out of five!"

"You have a brother?" Kongzi asked, surprised. He did not pretend to understand the exact nature of this boy, the Middle Kingdom. The ways of the world were mysterious, and personification of nations was still an alien concept.

"Yes, an older brother," the Middle Kingdom said, swinging his legs happily from his perch on the railing. "His name is Gojoseon, The Land of the Morning Calm."

"That is quite the mouthful," Kongzi said, amused. Gojoseon, was it? That strange land across the sea.

"It is!" the Middle Kingdom agreed, grinning. "He doesn't talk much, but he's very smart and very good with his hands. Always making pottery and knives and things."

"So Gojoseon is your brother," Kongzi said pensively. "Then this ruler you speak of would be King Jing, correct?"

The boy's eyes rounded, and then he laughed so hard he lost his grip on the railing. There was a yelp and a splash, and Kongzi had to fish him out of the pond.

"I'm sorry," the Middle Kingdom said later, dark hair plastered across his face like octopus arms. "But let me explain. King Jing is my king, yes. But I do not consider him much of a ruler, least of all mine."

"Who is your ruler, then, if not the King of Zhou?"

The boy leaned so far back that Kongzi feared he'd fall in the pond again; he leaned so far back that the stars reflected in his eyes.

"I follow only the Mandate of Heaven," said the Middle Kingdom.

He then looked confused (and a little affronted) when it was Kongzi who started laughing.

"I don't understand. What's so funny?"

"You are a very wise child," Kongzi said simply, when he could breathe again.

—:—

_To rule with virtue is like the North Star in its place, around which all other stars revolve, in homage._

_He who is just and fair will not lose the Mandate of Heaven, and all the land will enjoy an era of prosperity and peace._

_But woe be the dictator, the despot, the tyrant—for he has lost Heaven's favor, and will suffer only shame and misfortune..._

—:—

"I don't understand," the Middle Kingdom said, pouting adorably. "Do you not believe me? The Mandate is real! I have seen him with my own eyes; he's been here since the start of Zhou! He is a _long_, a dragon, large and green and fierce—you are laughing! Do you not believe me?"

—:—

The Middle Kingdom showed up on Kongzi's doorstep one day, buoyant and starry-eyed.

"Master Kong, Master Kong, I'd like you to meet my boss!"

Kongzi took one look and promptly dropped his tea.

* * *

—:—

* * *

**Footnotes****:**

**1] Unrest in Qi**: Lots of nasty shenanigans here. Basically, this guy Kan Zhi, already one of Duke Jian's favorite ministers, decides that he wants to be _even more favorite_. So he makes plans to kick the powerful Tian clan out of Qi. The Tian family catches wind of this plot and is understandably not happy—but instead of, I dunno, settling it civilly over cakes and tea, they decide to just assassinate everyone. With Kan Zhi and Duke Jian dead, the Duke's brother ascends to the throne. He ends up being just a figurehead for the Tian, who hold all the real executive power. (Which they use to kill even more people.)

**2] ****The Five Relations**: The famous five! I forgot to mention this in chapter one, but Confucius never explicitly defines the Five Relations in _The_ _Analects_ or anywhere else. Rather, it was something that evolved over time as Confucianism developed. That's why there are so many versions of it, too. I apologize for this historical inaccuracy (among countless others, I'm sure), but I found its inclusion to be thematically appropriate.

**3] Gojoseon**: "Go" means "ancient." I know it's a bit silly to have a country named Ancient Korea in this time period, but it was ultimately a choice between _Gojoseon_ (Ancient Korea) and _Dongyi_ (eastern barbarians). Somehow, Gojoseon seemed more appropriate.

**4] Kong Li**: Confucius' only son, who passed away in 483 BC.

**5] Yan Hui**: Confucius' favorite disciple. They had a father-son relationship and his death in 482 BC was a pretty devastating blow. In _The Analects,_ Confucius is recorded to have said something along the lines of, "Alas! Heaven is destroying me! Heaven is destroying me!" to which his other disciples rather insensitively said, "Master, your grief is excessive!"

**6] Tea**: Tea's been around China for _ages_. It was the Tang Dynasty, however, that actually popularized tea culture. Before then, tea was mostly used only in rituals or medicine. I'm not sure if Confucius partook in much tea, but if he did, it would have been pretty hipster of him. You know, drinking tea before it became cool.

**7] China's boss**: Yes, I totally went there. This is my theory on why China's boss is so weirdly not-human, while all the other countries have human bosses. The Mandate of Heaven is similar to the Western concept of divine right to rule, except it was bigger and much more accepted in its respective time period. Particularly because the Mandate actually _gave you the right to revolt_ if things got too hairy.


	3. 480 BC: yin and yang

**A/N****:**

No obscure/outdated names today, nope.

Further notes at the end, if you're interested. Enjoy!

* * *

—:—

* * *

**480 BC: yin and yang**

In their two years of acquaintance, Kongzi had quickly realized that the Middle Kingdom was absolutely fascinated with human society. The boy never tired of discussing the Five Relations, those social constructs and interhuman relationships that did not fit so seamlessly when it came to _nations_.

"Master, why is it that the teacher-student bond is not included among the Five?" he asked in the middle of breakfast, around a mouthful of rice porridge.

And Kongzi explained that it was a relationship that begged no distinction. One must _always_ strive to learn; the superior man found a teacher in everyone, great or small, young or old.

"Then—Master has found a teacher even in me?" The Middle Kingdom's eyes were as wide and round as persimmons.

"_Especially_ in you, silly child."

The Middle Kingdom turned red with flustered pride, and babbled happily for a bit before bounding headfirst into an entirely new topic, no doubt something bizarrely whimsical, like—

"What do you think the stars are made of?"

"I couldn't begin to imagine," Kongzi said truthfully. He had never given it much thought, choosing instead to focus on matters closer to earth.

"A lot of people say that when Pangu the giant died, his hair became the stars," said the Middle Kingdom, staring at Kongzi's own impressive beard as if expecting stars to suddenly come hurtling out.

"Hair?" Kongzi said, raising his equally impressive eyebrows. The boy's searching gaze immediately refocused on Kongzi's brow-line, and the old man resisted the urge to laugh.

"Yes," the boy said cheerfully. "It seems a bit funny, doesn't it? But everyone says different things. Some people tell me that everyone becomes a star when they die. Other people say we go to _live_ in the stars when we die, like shiny little houses—isn't that strange? Oh, but Brother's version is even more strange! He says that the someone shot down the sun and the moon, and that stars are made of their dead bodies."

"And what do you think?"

The Middle Kingdom frowned in thought. "Well...I think that if any of it is true, then there's an awful lot of dead things floating in the sky."

Kongzi stood by what he said a year before, when he had called the Middle Kingdom wise.

"But, you know," he continued, waving his spoon for emphasis and accidentally getting porridge in his hair, "if the stars really are dead people, I don't think it's all that odd. Because stars are kind of like people, yes? Some are bigger than others, and some are brighter than others, and some move around a lot, and some never move at all—but in the end they are still stars, and they still live in the same sky." His eyes became glazed, faraway. "I'd like to visit the sky, someday."

Inwardly, Kongzi rather thought that the Middle Kingdom was already a child of the sky. Flighty and superstitious, head in the clouds, driven by imagination. He was, all at once, everything Kongzi could not and would not be, grounded as he was in the affairs of humanity. They were polar opposites, like the _yin_ and _yang _from the Book of Changes.

Outwardly, Kongzi simply laughed and called the Middle Kingdom his little scholar.

It was a title well-received, if the pleased smile and reddened cheeks were any indication.

—:—

He found the Middle Kingdom in the shadow of an apricot tree.

"Good morning," he said.

Instead of answering, the child picked up a fallen blossom and tore it into a million tiny pieces. Not so good morning, then.

He then observed the boy, noting in particular the hunched posture, sullen expression, and systematic decimation of apricot flowers.

"You are upset," Kongzi said. In his seventy years of wisdom and sagacity, it was not his most profound observation.

The Middle Kingdom frowned at his fresh graveyard of apricot petals. "Master Kong, I went to the market today, and the old lady who sells eggs put a flower in my hair and called me a pretty girl. But I'm not a girl! Master, do I look like a girl?"

The child eyed him plaintively from piles of pink blossoms. A wind blew, throwing the same shade of pink all over his clothes and hair. Somewhere a bird sang sweetly.

Kongzi didn't have the heart to reply.

The Middle Kingdom sulked for a week.

—:—

In his lonelier moods, the Middle Kingdom would complain about his brother.

"He never comes to visit me!" was a common grievance. Apparently Gojoseon was not one for social inclinations.

"Perhaps he is busy?" Kongzi suggested mildly. Who knew the day-to-day affairs of other nations?

"He's always busy," grumbled the Middle Kingdom. "Even when _I_ go to see _him_, he never has time for me. I bring him presents, and he puts them aside without a second thought; I ask him to teach me things, and he says I'm too young. I am over a thousand years old! How is that young? He is only older than me by a few hundred!"

"A few hundred is still a few hundred," Kongzi said, trying not to feel too out of his depth. After all, the child was technically his elder as well. "His negligence reflects poorly on him, but does not preclude _you_ from being a gentleman. Show some respect for your older brother, yes?"

The Middle Kingdom deflated. "I…yes, I suppose I should. It's—it's just that..."

He fiddled with his sleeves, and Kongzi was suddenly struck with how _vulnerable_ he looked. It was as if these two years had not happened—as if the Middle Kingdom had never asked Kongzi to be his father, as if Kongzi hadn't all but adopted the boy for his own in return. Up until now the day had been cloudless and bright, but all of a sudden it was night at the pavilion again, and the Middle Kingdom was hiding in the bamboo, and Kongzi was learning his name for the first time.

"I'm scared," the child admitted, with the same lost expression he'd worn back then. "He's so big and strong and quiet, and he never sings songs or tells me stories anymore, and I don't even like his stories because they're silly and don't make any sense, but he hasn't told me one in _forever,_ and I'm just so scared because I miss his stupid stories and I miss him and I love him and I don't think he loves me anymore—"

Kongzi didn't realize he was hugging the boy until the Middle Kingdom started sobbing into his chest.

—:—

Winter came. Among other crimes, it stole away the last breath of summer heat, stripped the apricot tree of its leaves, and took Zhong You away from Kongzi. The season had only just begun and it already felt bitter beyond belief.

"If I ever get a little brother," the Middle Kingdom said to the sky, "I will teach him all that I know. And, and I'd even swim across oceans...! To visit, always, because I'll never, ever...stop..."

He trailed off, wide-eyed. The unspoken words hung heavy in the air.

"That sounds like a wonderful plan," Kongzi said, his words a gentle sigh. He felt tired, full of a bone-deep ache that wouldn't go away. Perhaps Zhong You had been one loss too many.

Old man and small child stood beneath the bare-fingered apricot and watched the snow fall.

* * *

—:—

* * *

**Footnotes****:**

**1] Rice porridge**: Ah, congee. Your ubiquity in Asian culture pleases me.

**2] Student-teacher bond**: I don't know if Confucius actually ever said anything to that effect; I was just spewing things that sounded vaguely wise. (I do think he would have agreed with the sentiment, though.)

**3] Pangu**: In Chinese mythology, the universe used to be this egg thing. After a long time, a giant hairy man named Pangu popped out of the egg, and he set about creating the world. When he died, he sort of...dissolved into the planet. Muscles became the land, blood became the rivers, that sort of thing. Specifically, the stars were said to come from his facial hair.

**4] Shooting down the sun and moon**: Gojoseon's story of the stars comes from old Korean creation myths. According to legend, there were originally two suns and two moons, which proved to be too intense for the poor people of Earth. (To which I say, pshaw. You think they had it bad? Chinese mythology started out with _ten suns_.) Anyway, there are several variations, but most stories agree that _someone_ shoots down the sun and moon and crafts the stars from their remains.

**5] Yin and yang**: Not quite the classic yin-yang we're all familiar with. _That_ interpretation came from the School of Naturalists, which formed during the Warring States Period. The basic concept still existed, though, and was introduced in the _I Ching_, the Book of Changes. (Yes, the same book from the last chapter. Confucius grew very fond of it in his later years.)

**6] China's and Gojoseon's ages**: Since China is described as a 4000-year old immortal, I'm basing his metaphorical birth as the start of the Xia Dynasty (2070 BC). There is some contention as to when Gojoseon was established, but historians seem to agree that it was around 2300 BC.

**7] Zhong You**: Not your typical Confucian disciple. Said to be crass and uncultured, but honest and brave. A warrior-type who ascended to the position of chief magistrate, before dying in 480 BC during the violent upheaval in Wei.


	4. 479 BC: earth and stars

**A/N****:**

Okay, change of plans. I've split the last chapter in two, so after chapter four there will be an epilogue. That said, these last chapters are a little different from the rest—they're written from China's perspective.

Further notes at the end, if you're interested. Enjoy!

* * *

—:—

* * *

**479 BC: earth and stars**

For the people of Qufu, green was a welcome reprieve after so many weeks of white.

Nature, too, celebrated alongside mankind. Rain replaced snow. Sun replaced rain. The old apricot tree burst into clouds of new blossoms, and everywhere the air was filled with young birdsong—symphonies no less beautiful for their inexperience.

The Middle Kingdom could not stop smiling. The people were happy, and their joy was his joy. It was _glorious_; he could feel it there, pooling in his chest. It grew and grew and when his small body could carry no more, it spilled forth as laughter.

He ran, feet retracing steps he already knew by heart. When the familiar sloping roof came into view, he brightened and ran even faster.

Master Kong's house.

In a manner reminiscent of grumpy hermits, the Master had not left his home for many days. In light of this, the Middle Kingdom had taken it upon his small shoulders to drag him from the house. Spring was here, for heaven's sake! At a time when the whole earth was growing and blooming, it simply _would not do_ for Kongzi to wither indoors.

"Master Kong," he called, knocking on the wooden beams. "Master Kong, are you there?"

No answer.

With a small huff, the Middle Kingdom invited himself inside. It would not be the first time the Master's hearing had failed him.

He found Kongzi in his study, inking characters onto bamboo strips. Apparently, no one had bothered to inform him that spring had arrived, for he was still swathed in thick winter robes.

The Middle Kingdom grinned. "Master Kong, there you are! It's safe to come out from your tortoise's shell, you know? The snow is all gone and the weather is lovely and warm. Would you like to come with me to see the fruit trees? They always flower so nicely this time of year."

He stopped when he noticed Kongzi coughing into his hand. Realizing that he must have startled the man with his sudden appearance, the Middle Kingdom's smile went from cheerful to sheepish in an instant. It grew further anxious as the coughing dragged on.

His expression froze altogether when Kongzi's hand came away red.

—:—

There was a man at the door.

Well. Many men came to the door, actually. But this one was persistent.

"I'd like to see the Sage," the annoying man said, all charm and patronizing smile. A politician's grin.

The Middle Kingdom scowled through the cracks of the door. "He's resting," he said bluntly. "Go away."

Annoying Man's smile cooled by several degrees. "And who are you to order me, little one? Kindly step aside. The young should respect their elders, do you not agree?"

"Yes," he said, his own eyes narrowing in response. "Which is why you should leave when I ask you to. I am a thousand years your elder, you stupid man. Shut up and respect me and go away."

The man stared at him, bemused. The Middle Kingdom shut the door in his face.

—:—

His triumph was short-lived.

When Kongzi learned of the incident, he gave the Middle Kingdom a stern lecture about manners and propriety. He then proceeded to hobble out the door on a walking stick, deaf to the boy's fervent protests about his health.

—:—

The man introduced himself as Duanmu Zigong.

The Middle Kingdom called him Duanmu Ci to annoy him.

He did not like Zigong, who despite his veritable trove of fake smiles never seemed to have one ready for Kongzi. The man always looked at the ailing Master with a grave expression, and the Middle Kingdom hated it for all that it implied.

"Stop it," the Middle Kingdom said, when he could take it no longer.

Zigong looked at him and raised his eyebrows. "Stop what?" The '_you tiresome child'_ went unspoken, but it still dripped from his words like oil.

"Stop looking at him like that!" he said heatedly. "Can't you see the Master is sick? He doesn't need you _frowning_ at him all the time, it's not helping, can't you just—can't you just—"

_Can't you just give him one of your stupid golden smiles and be on your way?_

"You belittle my grief," Zigong said coolly. "_Child._ You have no idea what is going on, do you? No idea that the Sage Philosopher is to d—"

A pointed cough interrupted him, attracting both of their attention. Two heads swiveled sideways.

The Master was awake.

"My dear Duanmu Ci," Kongzi said gently. His voice was barely there. "You still lack empathy."

"I lack…?" Zigong shook his head. "Do you speak of the boy? Master, he would not have understood it. He thinks himself a thousand years old; he is clearly touched in the head." The Middle Kingdom turned to glare daggers at him. Zigong frowned back. "Who is he, anyway?"

"Why, he is my son."

Zigong fell silent.

The Middle Kingdom forgot his anger as he stared at Kongzi, wide-eyed. There was a sharp, fierce ache in his chest, but he could not tell whether it was from joy or sadness. Perhaps it was both.

"Your son," he said, hesitantly, wonderingly, but was only met with silence.

Kongzi had gone back to sleep.

—:—

"The Master is like the sky," Zigong said to the Middle Kingdom in one of his more amiable moods. "To us disciples, he is the sun and moon and stars combined. There is no man greater, or wiser." He laughed, somewhat bitterly. "What do we know of the sky? All our lives it towers over our heads, but does anyone really know how high it goes?"

The boy listened without argument. For all that he disliked Zigong, the man certainly had a way with words.

He repeated Zigong's observation to Kongzi one night, in one of the elder's vanishing moments of lucidity.

"Don't you see, Master Kong?" he said. "I am the people and the earth. You are the stars and the sky."

He did not understand Kongzi's wistful smile, nor the words that followed.

"Oh, child. I'm afraid you have it backwards."

—:—

Sometimes, in the early hours of the morning when not even the sun had awoken, Kongzi would ramble.

_"The Mount Tai crumbles,"_ he sang quietly in between coughs. _"The great beam breaks. The wise man withers away…"_

Zigong told him in a sharp voice not to be so foolish, before stalking away to the kitchen, visibly upset.

The Middle Kingdom, however, stayed to listen. He always listened. That was how it was from the beginning, and that was how it would be until the end.

"I dreamt that I sat between two pillars," the Master sighed. "Oh! But the coming of the _qilin_ was correct, of course—I've known it for a while. I only fear not being remembered; I only regret my lack of influence…"

"Lack of influence?" said the Middle Kingdom, incredulous. "Master Kong is being silly. You of all people—_you_ do not lack influence."

"Do I? Truly? It is difficult to believe. Not many listen."

"_I_ listen! And _I'll_ remember!"

At that, Kongzi turned and looked at him for a long while. Then he smiled.

"Ah, my little scholar. I suppose you are right—I am lucky, no? You are, in a way, the one student who really matters…"

When Zigong came back with an armful of steaming cups, Kongzi was laughing.

—:—

The Middle Kingdom stared at Kongzi's beard and flyaway eyebrows, and imagined them rising to meet the moon. They were so wispy and silvery-white; he wondered if it were not stars, but clouds that were made of hair.

"Master Kong," he whispered in a voice raw from overuse. "Master, f-father—don't worry, you've just become a star, right? I—I will come and find you. I'll map the sky and find you in the stars, and…and you can finally tell me what they are made of, yes?"

He paused to take a shaky breath, racking his mind for something else to say, something ridiculous, something that would make Kongzi _open his eyes_ and give him that patient, bemused expression of which he was so very fond.

"I know I can do it; it's been done before. Seventh day of the seventh month…wh-who cares about the Silver River? I'll find a talking ox! I'll fly up on a bridge of magpies!"

He wiped his nose. Zigong sat in the corner of the room, watching him with something akin to pity.

"I'll find you in the stars, and I'll write out the constellations so that everyone can look up and remember. So…so just wait for me, okay?"

* * *

—:—

* * *

**Footnotes****:**

**1] Qufu**: The capital of the state of Lu. Confucius' hometown.

**2] Bamboo strips**: This is what people did before the advent of paper—they wrote on thin, vertical planks of bamboo, strung them together with cords, and then rolled them up into scrolls. Tedious, tedious process. Cai Lun's a hero, seriously.

**3] Illness**: Confucius fell ill in April of 479 BC. The nature of his sickness is unknown, so I was free to take creative liberties. I tried to preserve most of the ambiguity, however.

**4] Zigong**: Smooth-talking diplomat and one of Confucius' former students. He was really devoted to Confucius, especially during the old man's final years. "Zigong" is his courtesy name; his birth name is "Duanmu Ci." China calls him that to annoy him because in those days, the birth name was something generally reserved for elders to use. From China's perspective: an implicit assertion of seniority. From Zigong's perspective: being verbally flipped off by some jerk kid he'd never met before.

**5] Two pillars**: Refers to an old ritual practice in the Shang Dynasty—that's the one right before the Zhou—in which the bodies of the dead were laid out between two pillars. Cheerful, no?

**6] Qilin**: The mystical Chinese unicorn, also known as _kirin_. Famously misattributed to giraffes in the Ming Dynasty, when the Chinese were wandering the globe in their snazzy little boats. According to legend, a _qilin_ came to Confucius' mother in a dream, telling her that she'd give birth to a "throneless king." Fast-forward seventy years or so, and Confucius himself witnessed a creature that he identified as a _qilin._ He took it as a sign of his impending death.

**7] Silver River, talking ox, magpies**: From the story of_ The Weaver Girl and the Cowherd_. It's a tale of two star-crossed lovers—the weaver girl who lives in Heaven, and the cowherd who lives on Earth. Eventually, one of the higher-ups in Heaven discovers their romance and orders the weaver girl to return home; however, the cowherd still manages to visit his beloved with the aid of a magical talking ox. Then, because Heaven's bureaucrats have nothing better to do than to mess up people's love lives, the Heavenly Empress (or Jade Emperor, in some versions) summons the Silver River (a.k.a. the Milky Way) to bar passage. But love conquers all! Every year on the seventh day of the seventh month, all the magpies in the world gather to form a bridge across the Silver River, and the two lovers are reunited for a night.


	5. epilogue

**A/N****:**

...It occurs to me that I should probably apologize for screwing around with actual historical figures, and I'd like to remind everyone that interpretations of their characters are entirely fictitious and mine alone. I mean no disrespect. Especially not to the virtuous Confucius and his esteemed disciples.

That said—holy crap this last chapter ran away from me. Over twice as long as any of the others! And this was all originally going to be part of chapter four? Bad planning on my part.

As always, further notes at the end for those interested. Enjoy!

* * *

—:—

* * *

**epilogue**

_479 BC: northern bank, Si River, Feudal State of Lu_

The Duke of Lu came to visit the grave.

He swept in on the breath of his own lofty sighs, decked in silk robes and false dramatics. The Middle Kingdom was not amused. Duke Ai had ignored Kongzi for years, had turned down his every request and offer—what right did he have to pretend otherwise?

The Duke was in the middle of a particularly maudlin soliloquy when Zigong interrupted. The former disciple's words were so smooth and quietly disparaging that the Duke turned a downright amusing shade of red and hastened to leave.

After that, the Middle Kingdom began regarding Zigong somewhat more appreciatively.

—:—

_476 BC: riverbank settlement, Si River, Feudal State of Lu_

They had built huts. Perhaps a hundred of the squat, wooden homes decorated the land by the riverbank. A testimony to all the lives Kongzi had touched with his wisdom.

Some were packing their things, preparing to leave. They had mourned for three years, as was customary for the death of a parent, and now they had lives to return to. Families to return to.

"I see you're still here."

The Middle Kingdom glanced up from his brushwork. "Oh. Hello, Duanmu Ci. Go away, I'm busy."

Unfazed, Zigong leaned over his shoulder. "Your penmanship is atrocious," came the pleasant observation.

The boy tossed him a sour glance before plunging his brush back into the well of the inkstone. "Why are _you_ still here? Three years is over, isn't it?"

Zigong didn't answer at first. Silently, he took the calligraphy brush from the Middle Kingdom's hands and completed the half-written phrase. A proverb. One of Kongzi's favorites.

"I think I'll stay for another three years," Zigong said quietly. "We've still an entire book to write, don't we?"

—:—

_473 BC: Confucius Village, Si River, Feudal State of Lu_

They did not finish their book within three years, of course. The _Lunyu_ was an ambitious project, and would take at least decades more to see through.

The Middle Kingdom knew this and did not mind. But then again, he was a nation, and old in his own way. Time moved at a different tempo for him than for others.

Which was also why he was somewhat caught by surprise when the time came for Zigong to leave.

"Perhaps I will go to Qi," Zigong mused as he organized his small number of belongings. "The political air there has festered as of late. Ever since the Tian family…well. Some moral counseling is in order, I think."

The Middle Kingdom averted his eyes and shuffled his feet. He opened his mouth a few times, but was unsure of just what he wanted to say.

He eventually settled on, "You know I don't really mean it when I tell you to go away."

Zigong paused and gave him an assessing look. "And you know that Master Kong would not have approved of misleading words. Avoid duplicity and ambiguity, it's unbecoming in one such as you." His expression became wry. "It is, after all, _my_ specialty."

He continued to pack in silence, and the Middle Kingdom continued to frown at the floor.

"Twelve," Zigong offered conversationally, when he had swept the last of his things into his traveling bags.

The Middle Kingdom looked up, uncomprehending.

"You looked about twelve when I first met you. Six years later, and you still look about twelve." He hefted his bag on his shoulders. "Now, if I am to return to visit in, let us say, a decade or so. Will you still be twelve?"

Silence. Then, a slow smile.

"Of course not," he said. "I'll be sixteen hundred and seven."

—:—

_469 BC: Temple of Confucius, Qufu, Feudal State of Lu_

He stood outside red walls and green pines, holding an ugly brown sack. His body ached all over. He was unsure of what to think.

On one hand, Duke Ai's intentions were no doubt well-meaning. On the other, he wasn't sure Kongzi would have appreciated the ostentatiousness of such a gesture. Never mind that the Duke had transformed his house into a giant temple.

The Middle Kingdom paused at the name carved upon the first gate. Lingxing Gate. _Ling, _window lattice. _Xing,_ star. Lingxing, the star that controlled all the heavens. He swallowed past the lump in his throat and entered. It seemed that the Duke did get some things right, after all.

Once inside, he burned sticks of incense and withdrew offerings from his sack. Fruits—oranges, apricots. Small, useless (precious) trinkets. A tortoiseshell oracle bone. A bamboo flute.

For a long moment he simply watched the sweet-sharp incense smoke drifting heavenward, a curl of white-gray against endless blue.

An acute, shuddering twinge in his arm brought him back down to earth (another war—where was it this time? Qi? Wei?) and he gathered his empty sack to leave.

He still had an entire sky to chart.

—:—

_463 BC: Confucius Village, Si River, Feudal State of Lu_

The ensuing years had transformed him into an odd, nocturnal creature.

He spent his days asleep, dreaming of constellations, sweetly oblivious to the wartime aches and bruises that would greet him in the evening.

Nights, though—nights were spent with his head to the sky, eyes tracing patterns of light, fingers tracing ink.

(If he could just immerse himself in the sky for long enough, perhaps his earthly scars would disappear, forgotten.)

And he wasn't alone. Even in this great expanse of night, there were companions. A dragon, a bird, a tiger, a tortoise. Blue, red, white, black. They gladly wandered with him along four of the five cardinal points, along east-south-west-north, and he watched with exhausted fascination as they danced to the rhythm of the moon.

A polite rapping on his door startled him awake. It was afternoon, but it might as well have been the average person's midnight for all the wakefulness it afforded him.

Opening the door cast stabbing rays of sunlight all around his little hut of a house, and he half-deliriously wished for a bow and arrow. Shoot it down! Shoot down that stupid, preening firebird of a sun. He much preferred the Vermillion Bird of the South, anyway.

He was so busy plotting the murder of a celestial body that he almost didn't recognize his visitor.

"Liar," said Zigong, wearing one of his irritating golden smiles. "You're still twelve."

And then, as the Middle Kingdom gaped at him, Zigong raised his hands together in a salute of greeting.

—:—

Zigong's hair was thinning and streaked with white, and the Middle Kingdom realized that he had let time fly away from him again.

The Middle Kingdom hastily prepared and invited him to dinner, and as they ate he learned that Zigong had been journeying all across the land, doing what he did best—talking. The man had talked his way up and down the tattered kingdom, and had been passing through Lu from Song to Wei when he'd decided to stop by Qufu for a visit.

"And I find you here with little difficulty," Zigong said, raising an eyebrow. "You are quite the homebody, hmm? No traveling, none at all?"

The words were meant to be provocative, he knew, but he was too tired at the moment to argue with Zigong.

"I don't need to see the wars to know they're there," the Middle Kingdom said blankly. "I don't want to see them, anyway."

Zigong's expression softened. "Wait here. I've something here for you."

He knelt by one of his traveling packs and, to the Middle Kingdom's surprise, began withdrawing roll after roll of bamboo scrolls.

"For the _Lunyu,_" he said, passing them to the boy's wondering hands. "I did my best."

He could barely speak, but Zigong seemed to understand.

"Duanmu Ci," he said a week later, when Zigong was leaving for the last time. "No, Duanmu Zigong. Thank you for everything. You…you have been a good friend to me."

Zigong gave him an easy smirk, but the Middle Kingdom knew him well enough by now to see past the insincerity. Not easy, not a smirk. Behind the smirk was a smile, fond and painful and a little bit sad.

"Anything for Master Kong," Zigong said, "and for my nation."

—:—

_453 BC: Confucius Village, Si River, Feudal State of Lu_

Books, maps, ink, poetry. Everything and anything to keep his hands busy and his mind occupied.

It distracted him from the ribbons of pain that ghosted down his spine and fanned out along his sides. It quelled the shivers. It kept the fevers at bay.

(He had nightmares when the Zhi clan fell. Blood wine and grinning skulls. He couldn't drink out of a cup for weeks.)

His little home had become a library, complete with treacherous towers of bamboo scrolls and haphazard charts pinned to every available surface. The people of Qufu whispered about him—the eccentric boy-scholar of Confucius Village, they called him. Sometimes a passing intellectual would ask, reverently, for a book to study. He'd always oblige, because that was what Kongzi would have done.

Libraries grew, but makeshift huts did not. One day, his poor house decided that it was time to collapse. It was embarrassing. He probably should have foreseen it.

"This is marvelous," commented the carpenter who was helping him rebuild his home. The Middle Kingdom liked him. He had friendly eyes. "Er, the books, I mean. Not your house. A pity about the house."

"You know of books?" the boy asked, curious. Not many were literate, and this man was still young. Barely a man, actually. Maybe seventeen.

The carpenter's expression _glowed_, and the Middle Kingdom had his answer.

When the house was no longer a pile of rubble, the carpenter returned to his home in Tengzhou with a few more books than he came with.

—:—

_403 BC: Court of Duke Mu, Qufu, Feudal State of Lu_

The Duke of Lu spoke quickly, anxiously.

"…dissolution of Jin, and that King Weilie recognized the states of Wei, Han, and Zhao…"

Of course he did. King Weilie was a puppet, dancing to the hundred tangled strings of his own feudal states. The Middle Kingdom scoffed and turned. He'd heard enough.

"You should leave," said a gentle voice. It came from one of the old men standing by the banisters. Mozi; the Duke had called him Mozi, right?

"I am leaving," he said politely.

"No, no. I mean really leave. You've been in Lu for a long time, haven't you?"

He looked up, startled.

"There's more than just war out there, you know," Mozi said pensively. "People are writing. Thinking. _Flourishing_. If you always avoid the mud, you'll never see the lotus bloom. I think you should leave. Travel a bit. Get to know yourself."

He stared. Was the old man really advising him—centuries old, perhaps, but still a child in his eyes—to wander around the war-torn country, unsupervised? When had this sort of thing become common?

"I'll…think about it," he said, puzzled.

Mozi smiled. He had friendly eyes. "Thank you for the books," he called as the boy descended the steps.

The Middle Kingdom nearly tripped over himself in realization.

—:—

_364 BC: The Middle Kingdom_

He left.

It was horrible. It was wonderful.

Years fell away like sand, and he could feel himself fracturing into five, six, seven. He cut himself on warfare and stitched himself back together with philosophy. The hundred schools of thought running through his mind were the only thing keeping him sane.

In Wei, he met a man named Shi Shen, and together they counted the stars.

When Qin soldiers came marching into Wei, he and Shi Shen packed their star charts and moved to Qi.

Qi was nicer, anyway. Lord Gan was an astronomer himself, and very hospitable. The three of them made quite the team.

—:—

_320 BC: Linzi Cemetery, Linzi, Feudal State of Qi_

Humans never lived very long.

They fell like flowers and left scars in their wake.

Touch and go.

The Middle Kingdom visited Shi Shen and Gan De and laid flowers on their graves. Fresh graves, fresh scars. It occurred to him while whittling out epitaphs that, of all the things he owned, the scars were at once the most terrible and most precious.

—:—

_312 BC: Jixia Academy, Linzi, Feudal State of Qi_

The Middle Kingdom withdrew inside himself for a while. He rolled up his star maps, locked himself in the empty rooms of the Jixia Academy, and returned quietly to the _Lunyu_ project. The days trundled steadily by, characterized by dusty memories and feverish scribbles.

At the Jixia Academy, a scholar named Mengzi took great interest in his work. The Middle Kingdom was wary of Mengzi at first—the elder's inordinate fascination was slightly off-putting—but when he learned that the man had known Kongzi's grandson, all caution flew out the window.

Mengzi was simply very earnest, as he soon learned. And very passionate about the teachings of Master Kong. They were actually quite similar, the two of them.

With Mengzi's help, he finished the _Lunyu_.

They left on rushed terms. Mengzi's mother had fallen ill, and the man immediately hurried south to see her. The Middle Kingdom, for his part, decided to travel north to Yan.

Because Mengzi's blind devotion to his mother had eased open a hole in his chest he thought he'd long since mended.

Because he, too, had family that he wanted to see.

—:—

_311 BC: Liaodong Peninsula, Feudal State of Yan_

Gojoseon's eyes were dark, fierce. Beneath the stormy expression, he looked absolutely haggard.

The Middle Kingdom stood on the shores of Liaodong and stared at him, teary-eyed.

His brother was yelling. Calm, quiet Gojoseon was yelling at him.

"You! Tell me, what did I ever do to you? _Tell_ _me!"_

A million stuttering excuses flit through his mind. He honestly didn't know, honest, swear to the sun and moon and All-Under-Heaven, _he didn't know_, Yan was on the outermost margins of his kingdom—Liaodong was even further—and it was so very easy to lose track of himself when all the fighting was tearing him into _seven_, when everything blurred together and it was one war lost among thousands, among _thousands_—

None of it made it out of his mouth. Which was just as well. They sounded weak even to his own ears.

"I'm sorry," he finally said, moving a half-step forward and cringing when Gojoseon took a prompt half-step backwards. "Brother, I am so_ sorry—_"

"No," Gojoseon said curtly. "No, you're no brother of mine. Brothers don't do this. Brothers don't stab one another in the back. Goodbye, _Zhongguo, _and take your apologies with you. I don't want to see you again."

He stalked away, and the Middle Kingdom was left standing wide-eyed and statue-still on a conquered land that he'd barely wanted. Land that he barely even knew he now possessed.

(Perhaps, ages from now, a different younger brother would rise to seize the Liaodong Peninsula from his unsuspecting elder.)

(Sometimes, history had a very cruel sense of humor.)

—:—

_229 BC: streets of Xinzheng, State of Qin_

Qin had won. The first of the Seven had fallen.

The Middle Kingdom watched the triumphant procession from the perch of a slanted rooftop, in a city that used to belong to the Han. Ying Zheng, the King of Qin, was shouting something down to the people. The crowd roared back, wild with energy.

"You don't look very happy."

The Middle Kingdom very nearly lost his balance. His head snapped to the side just in time to see the undulating body of a dragon settle beside him.

"_Tian_—don't scare me like that!" he said indignantly, flapping large sleeves for emphasis. "I almost fell off the roof!"

"I would have caught you," the dragon said, looking amused. The boy glowered at him until he rearranged his features into a suitably contrite expression. "…Nonetheless, I apologize."

For a while, the two of them watched Ying Zheng in silence.

"I don't like him," the Middle Kingdom spoke up suddenly.

The dragon, Tianming, gave him a sidelong glance. "I think he'd be good for you. You are falling apart, my friend. Ying Zheng will help you; he aims for unification."

"He's a bully."

"He's a leader."

The boy's face turned red. "He is _not_ a leader!" he cried. "A leader is someone who respects his people, someone who rules with compassion! That is what Master Kong taught me, and I _will_ stand by his words."

"Old words," Tianming mused, turning to peer at him with impassive eyes. "It's been a long time. I'm surprised you remember, even now—"

"Especially now," the Middle Kingdom cut in, chin high, gaze defiant.

A silence, punctuated with scattered cheers from below.

Then, at last, the Mandate of Heaven nodded.

Looking almost…pleased.

"You'll be fine," he told the boy, before rising to depart just as abruptly as he came. In smooth, rippling motions, Tianming coiled toward the clouds. By the time the Middle Kingdom could think of a proper response, the dragon's silhouette was a mere blur of green among billowing white vapor.

—:—

He could feel the exact moment when the Mandate transferred favor from the Zhou to the Qin. The heavens churned, coughing thunder and bleeding rain. Crippling earthquakes ravaged the kingdom. An unforgiving famine sapped the land dry.

In the midst of all the chaos was Ying Zheng, King of Qin, who seized the opportunity to push forward his campaign of unification. Qin territory steadily grew, soaking up its surrounding states like a giant, merciless sponge.

The Middle Kingdom was going to have _words_ with the dragon the next time they met.

—:—

_221 BC: Court of Qin Shi Huang, Xianyang, Empire of Qin_

The Zhou Dynasty was over. Now was the era of Qin. The Middle Kingdom wasn't sure whether he felt relieved or disappointed.

He wandered the streets of Xianyang in a daze. It was certainly quite the lavish city. All around were temples and statues, and every now and then he passed under the shadow of a soaring structure that arched overhead like the spine of a stretching cat. Ying Zheng had very grand tastes. Wait, no, not Ying Zheng—what was it that the man was calling himself now? Oh, that was right. _Qin Shi Huang,_ the First Emperor.

The palace of the Emperor glittered prettily at him as he entered, but he was too lost in thought to appreciate (or, indeed, condemn) the splendor. What would Master Kong think of all this? He missed Master Kong. He missed all the people he'd met and loved over the years, Zigong and Mengzi and Shi Shen and Gan De—

He came to a silk-smooth bronze mirror that extended along the wall, and paused to eye his reflection critically. A boy of twelve stared critically back at him. He'd been twelve for centuries now.

(Centuries…had it really been centuries since he'd met Kongzi?)

Slowly, he raised his hand and fisted it over his chest. The scars over his heart stretched uncomfortably, and he watched as his own expression fractured a little. Stars and scars, stars and scars…

He wanted to go back to Lu. Although he supposed it wasn't called Lu anymore. But surely Qufu was still there? Surely his library was still there? And his star maps, and his poetry, and Zigong's scrolls for the _Lunyu?_ He missed them all, along with pondside pavilions and bamboo curtains, with apricot trees and verdant pines…

Dying rays of sunlight reflected off the polished bronze mirror, casting light-wrought imitations onto the adjacent wall. Tiny imperfections of bronze swam to the surface, suspended in a web of gold. _Stars and scars_. The Middle Kingdom stared, fascinated, before tearing his gaze from the sight.

For now, he'd rest in the Emperor's overly extravagant palace. But tomorrow was a new day. Tomorrow, he'd make his way back to Qufu.

—:—

When he happened to glance at the mirror the next morning, he fancied he looked thirteen.

* * *

—:—

* * *

**Coda:**

And that's a wrap.

…I can't believe I actually went and skimmed through the entire Warring States Period. This was only supposed to be a four-year thing, I swear. But it was fun! Gosh, it was fun.

I've been toying with the idea of a sequel of sorts, something that would focus on China's relationships with other countries over the long, long years. I don't know if I'll do it. It's a pretty ambitious project, especially given how much research I put into _this_ wee four-year (turned two-hundred-year) period. We'll see!

To conclude, I'd like to thank all of you lovely people who have taken the time out of your lives to give this weird, humble story a chance. Lurkers, thank you for your quiet support. Reviewers…thank you. Just, thank you. Every single review was like a little bundle of joy and wonder. If I melted any further I'm pretty sure I'd be a marshmallow.

Thank you, everyone, for reading. I wish you all the best!

—_Tre Corde_

* * *

—:—

* * *

**Footnotes****:**

**1] Three year mourning**: Customary for the death of a parent; three years represented the length of time that children were completely dependent on their parents. Common mourning practices? Rough clothes, messy hair, eating nothing but rice porridge, relinquishing music. A lot of Confucius' followers went through the three-year mourning period, but Zigong was the only one who kept going at it for an additional three years.

**2] Confucius Village**: When Confucius died, a lot of people set up huts by his grave. Some eventually left, but over a hundred people decided to hunker down and stay forever. The locals began calling the place "Confucius Village."

**3] The _Lunyu_**: _The Analects_. A collection of Confucian pearls of wisdom, as compiled by his followers. Believed to have been written and completed during the Warring States Era. _Lun yu_ literally means "selected sayings."

**4] Confucius Temple**: After Confucius died, Duke Ai of Lu declared his house a temple. It was to be the first of many, many Confucius Temples. By the way, when China goes inside to burn incense and make offerings, it's not that he's some creepy cultist making sacrifices to his god Confucius. Those are common ritual practices to honor deceased family members.

**5] Oracle bone, flute**: Oracle bones hail back to the Shang Dynasty, and were used in divination as a method to communicate with one's ancestors. I meant it as a symbol; y'know, bridge between worlds. As for the flute, it was a nod to the fact that Confucius was crazy about music. If he lived in our era, he'd be that guy with headphones over his ears all the time.

**6] Dragon, bird, tiger, tortoise**: The Four Symbols. The Azure Dragon of the East, the Vermillion Bird of the South, the White Tiger of the West, and the Black Turtle of the North. Whereas we look up at the sky and see things like Aquarius and Gemini and Virgo, these Four Symbols were what the Chinese saw in the constellations.

**7] East-south-west-north**: In English, we have the convention of north-south-east-west, but the Chinese tend to say it in a different order; namely _dong-nan-xi-bei_, or east-south-west-north. They also have a fifth cardinal direction, the center, which is associated with the color yellow and represents China itself.

**8] Firebird sun**: If you actually read these footnotes (thank you, by the way), you might recall my mentioning of "ten suns" in chapter three. Well, in Chinese mythology, the Sun was actually a three-legged bird. And there were ten of them. They took turns sailing across the sky, until one day when they decided that, YOLO, let's all bust through the sky at once! So they did. And life on earth became hell. Mankind was saved when Houyi, an archer, figured that enough was enough and shot nine of those firebird punks down.

**9] Zigong's salute**: Ancient China had all sorts of complicated meeting rituals. Generally speaking, a subordinate was supposed to salute first, and then the superior would salute back. When two normal people met, the younger person saluted first. Zigong's salute is a pretty big deal; he's finally acknowledging China's seniority in age. China returns the gesture of respect with the use of Zigong's courtesy name.

**10] Blood wine and grinning skulls**: The Partition of Jin was a tug-of-war between four clans, the Zhao, Zhi, Han, and Wei. In 453 BC, Zhao, Han and Wei banded together and completely annihilated the Zhi clan. Charmingly, they then proceeded to turn their fallen enemy's skull into a wine cup.

**11] Era of the Warring States**: A terrible, bloody period during which everyone was trying to conquer one another. The actual commencement of this period is up to interpretation, ranging anywhere from 481 to 403 BC. The significance of 403 BC? King Weilie officially recognizes the Partition of Jin. Up until then, Zhou's dwindling authority had simply been a big, fat elephant in the room. The recognition of Wei, Han and Zhao was akin to Weilie announcing to everyone via megaphone, "Hey, guys, I'm powerless! Nothing I do really matters anymore!"

**12] Hundred Schools of Thought**: The Warring States period was not all bad, though. It was also known as the Golden Age of Chinese philosophy, and it's my humble amateur's opinion that this particular Golden Age flourished not only _in spite_ of the corruption and violence, but _because_ of it. As well as Confucianism, we also have Mohism, Daoism, Legalism, the School of Naturalists, the School of Names... There were so many schools and philosophers that they became known as the Hundred Schools of Thought.

**13] Astronomy**: Star inscriptions can be found on Shang oracle bones—proof that young China has been obsessed with the stars for a very long time. It was during the Warring States, however, that detailed astronomical records began. Shi Shen and Gan De are both astronomers from that time period.

**14] Mozi**: The hippy of ancient China. He founded Mohism, which preached pacifism and universal love. (Admittedly, with more emphasis on _universal_ than on _love_.)

**15] Liaodong and Gojoseon**: Circa 300 BC, the state of Yan invaded Gojoseon and won the Liaodong Peninsula. This very same peninsula would be a spot of contention in the First Sino-Japanese War over two thousand years later. Japan won, and China was forced to cede control over Liaodong, as well as Taiwan and Korea. (For those who haven't seen the comic strips, the First Sino-Japanese War is believed to have been referenced in Himaruya's "The Story about the Early Days of China and Japan." It was omitted in the anime adaptation.)

**16] Bronze mirror**: Yup. Western glass mirrors would not be introduced until the Qing (not to be confused with Qin) Dynasty. There's this awesome technique called "Chinese magic mirror," in which the back of a bronze mirror is crafted with little patterns and designs. When light hits the mirror _just so,_ it projects an image of that very pattern on whatever surface it's reflected upon. Spiffy, yes? Unfortunately, Chinese magic mirrors didn't exist until the Han Dynasty, so I couldn't use it here. I did, however, try to allude to the general phenomenon.

**17] Qin Dynasty**: _Lots_ of mixed feelings about this dynasty. By all means it should be glorious. First Emperor, right? Plus, unification of China! Unification of writing, of currency, of weights and measures. The Terracotta Army. Heck, the_ Great Wall_. Unfortunately, the First Emperor was a…not-so-nice-word, and his dynasty was pretty much the 221 BC version of _1984_. Or at least _Fahrenheit 451_. Book burnings, massacre of scholars, suppression of free thought, totalitarian dictatorship, etc. A complete turnaround from the Golden Age of philosophy. Luckily for China, the Qin Dynasty only lasted for fifteen years. With the arrival of the Han Dynasty came the resurgence of everything anti-Qin. Confucianism, among other things, made a huge comeback.


End file.
